


Cheers (Drink to That)

by Deathstar510



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weyoun is a worrywart and Damar is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathstar510/pseuds/Deathstar510
Summary: Not every Cardassian is willing to sit down and accept Dominion rule. Damar expected that. He'd expected the assassination attempts too. What he hadn't expected was for Weyoun to care so much if he lived or died.





	Cheers (Drink to That)

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing these two or even thinking of a plot with these two so I hope it came out well! Done for The Capricious One for Round 10 of the trek-rarepair-swap!

As soon as he was old enough to have goals, Damar had dreamed of one day becoming a Legate. Serving Cardassia as only those at the top could, fulfilling his duty, and leaving his name forever etched in Cardassian history. Most children at least thought of taking the command path, at one point or another, most simply didn’t have the personality required to succeed. Damar did. He’d set his whole life out on that plan, worked his way up the ladder, done everything he had to move towards that singular goal. That title.

And he’d done it. Achieved his goals and yet, if the Corat Damar of then could see the Legate Damar of now, he was sure that the boy would have sooner set himself up for a life of janitorial duty just to avoid that fate.

The title of Legate, as it turned out, didn’t mean that much at all when the Dominion held every important string to pull at their leisure. Damar may have been in charge in name, but bound by the Dominion he might as well have been a slave.

Though, as a slave, he’d have had much less access to kanar. So perhaps that was the one benefit in all of this. If he couldn’t have control, he’d at least have something to dull the shame of it all. Damar brought the bottle to his lips, tilted it back, and let out an irritated sound when nothing came of the movement. Empty. And he’d only just opened this one too.

The bottle fell to the carpet with a dull thud and it almost covered the sound of the door opening. Damar grunted again, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. “Did the Founders not see fit to include knocking in the Vorta’s talents?”

“I’m not interested in giving you the opportunity to tell me to leave,” Weyoun stated as he invited himself in. “Not when we have important things to discuss.”

Right. The assassination attempt. Of course Weyoun would want to talk about the fact that someone, somewhere, wanted him dead, whereas Damar had simply accepted that as an integral part of being the Dominion’s puppet. Of course, not all of his people would be content would taking their obvious control lying down. It was only natural that, occasionally, they would try and assert that position with the odd bomb at breakfast. He’d watched Dukat suffer through multitudes more creative attempts with only his usual amount of complaint and Damar intended to do the same.

Weyoun didn’t seem interested in his intentions, however. His voice rose sharply as he spoke again, “ _Damar._ ”

“I’m listening.” Damar stood and walked right past him to the kanar cabinet, not even looking back at him, and received a scoff in response. He rolled his eyes while the Vorta couldn’t see. “Just say what you came to say.”

Surprisingly, there was no response to that. He didn’t think Weyoun knew how to stay quiet for more than a few seconds at a time. The silence stretched out until he turned back, new bottle in hand, to stare. Weyoun stood firm, straight backed, hands behind him, chin upraised, and eyes locked onto his. This definitely wasn’t the usual, it tended to be harder to make Weyoun stop a lecture, not start in on one. Damar leaned back against the wall, setting the bottle on the table beside him. “I thought you weren’t interested in giving me long enough to tell you to get out.”

“I wanted to make sure you were paying attention.” Ah yes. There was the attitude he’d learned to expect in a conversation with Weyoun. He was starting to think he was dealing with an all new one. Eight or nine or whatever number they were on now. “Why haven’t you assigned anyone to find your attempted assassins.”

“They hardly got close enough to warrant the title of ‘assassins,’ I think.”

“You’re avoiding the point.” Weyoun’s eyes narrowed and, finally, he broke the rigid pose he’d adopted to stride forward, closing some of the distance between them. A little more than Damar was comfortable with, actually – Vorta did not seem to have as well developed a concept of personal space as Cardassians did. The distance right now, for example, was much more appropriate for a close companion or someone interested in flirting with him.

Damar was blaming the kanar for the warmth in his cheeks. This could only be solved with more of it. When he went to grab the bottle, though, Weyoun’s hand suddenly closed over his wrist, freezing him mid movement.

Weyoun forced eye contact again. “I’d think the lack of action on your part would only show them cowardice, invite more attempts. Hardly seems like a good plan on your part.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were worried about me.” Damar pulled free of his grip in the next second, it wasn’t a tight hold. Surprising, but not tight.

His hand lingered in the air for a moment before returning behind his back. “And if I didn’t know better I’d say you were suicidal. It’s not good form for a Legate.”

Snorting, he shook his head and reached for the bottle again. This time Weyoun let him do so without any interference and Damar put it between them as if that would add distance between the two of them. One step closer to drinking this whole awkward moment and every awkward thought away. Excellent.

“I’m not suicidal, though I’m sure it’d please you if I were.” Damar hadn’t prepared for the way that Weyoun’s expression changed, not quite falling but certainly not as cocky as he usually saw from him. He pulled the bottle just a little bit closer to his chest. “What?”

“I’d rather you stay alive,” Weyoun replied simply. “Is that so hard to believe, that I’m not interested in you dying?”

“A little.” Damar cleared his throat. Was Weyoun leaning closer to him or was that just his imagination. “I…” He trailed off immediately, barely even getting the single syllable out. There was no appropriate response to this strange encounter that simply kept growing stranger by the second. It was easier when he could assume that his life meant as little to Weyoun as it did to the Founders he followed.

A thank you very nearly passed his lips, bitten off at the last second. That would certainly make things much worse on the awkwardness front. He broke eye contact to look at the bottle in his hand. Just the cork stood in the way of ending this whole situation. Damar pulled it free and raised the bottle, ready to drink deeply.

It never reached his lips.

Weyoun held the end of the bottle in a tight grip, tighter than when he’d done the same to Damar’s wrist. He could have wrestled it away, he was certain of that. The Vorta had many talents but when it came to brute strength, he was confident a Cardassian would win out. Which is what made it even more upsetting that he didn’t even try to pry it away and Weyoun soon pulled it completely out of his grip.

Whatever Damar had expected him to do with it, though, he didn’t expect him to drink it. But there Weyoun went, bringing the bottle to his lips and tilting it back to take a swig of it. A waste on a species with a weak sense of taste and no apparent ability to get intoxicated. He lowered it again; lips smacking in a way that would be obscene on any other species – it was on him too, Damar just assumed it wasn’t _supposed_ to be.

“Mmm, yes, I was afraid of that,” Weyoun muttered, more to himself than Damar. The next part he spoke louder. “Very toxic, it seems that our assassins – and I do assume that this is close enough for you to agree to the use of the word – have found your weak point. I wouldn’t trust anything from that cabinet if I were you, we’re quite lucky that you didn’t grab this one last night.” He tapped the mouth of the bottle lightly to Damar’s chest, then reached past him to grab the one extra bottle Damar still had.

Weyoun turned away, bottles in each hand, and with them taking any chance Damar had of having a pleasant day today. The door opened and Weyounn paused in it, glancing over his shoulder. “Before you drink anything else, Damar, I would suggest you let me test them first. I would hate to see one of these attempts actually succeed.” A long pause. “I think I’d miss you, if you were gone.”

The door shut.

Out of habit, Damar reached for kanar that was no longer there, fingers closing on thin air. Right. It looked like he would need to face this particular day on his own. And however many other days it took to think through this strange encounter before he could look Weyoun in the eye long enough to get his kanar back.

Maybe he would need to find those assassins. They might well be the only thing to save him from _whatever_ the damned Vorta was doing to him.


End file.
